Bumping into love
by public static void
Summary: The second time Sansa goes to Riverrun, she finds a man worthy of her love. AU; No War of the Five Kings. For Sunset Whispers.


**For Sunset Whispers i** **n the Gift Giving Extravaganza 2018.** I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Sansa is almost six-and-ten when she and her Mother visit the Riverlands. It isn't the first time Sansa comes this far south, for she has been there before to attend her grandfather's funeral rites. Back then, all of her trueborn siblings had come and yet now only she and her Mother are here.

A wedding, Sansa finds, is not nearly as compelling to her siblings than the strange, foreign funeral rites of the Riverlands. She is of another mind entirely and wastes no time on preparing the best of her clothes, fixing hems to adjust for her growth and loosening bodices to fit her breasts.

She feels a little guilty when she tells Jeyne Poole she will not go south with her, for her mother thinks it might be time for Sansa to stay for a few moons in Riverrun to find a suitable southern husband. Her friend has dreamed all her life of knowing the south. But Jeyne is fine where she is, Sansa convinces herself. She has the attention of Theon Greyjoy, who has matured a bit in the last two years and no longer frequents the brothels and whores he enjoyed during the first years of his adulthood. Now, he has even gone as far as to request a small keep in the North, knowing thanks to his sister that he will not be Lord of the Iron Islands when their father dies.

So, Sansa starts her journey south with many thoughts directed to Jeyne and almost nary a thought for the rest of her siblings. They are quite happy in Winterfell and while she feels content there, it's also like a cage she can enter and exit at her leisure, but a cage nonetheless. She has been told before how not–northerner she is, but Sansa disagrees. She wants to be the lady of a castle and marry a lord who will treat her right, or a knight who devotes himself to earn her heart, but she doesn't suffer the same delusions of her girlhood, thinking all is right in the world. What is more, she has found no patience in her for the few lords and knights who have tried to win her heart through poetry, like Domeric Bolton, or through being gallant and gentlemanly, like Cley Cerwyn.

Instead, Sansa wants something else. Perhaps it's someone else, though she does not know who he is yet. The promise of meeting many lords at her Uncle's wedding to a Blackwood girl is very appealing and it might be the exact place where she finds the man who will swear to her a vow in front of the Seven–who–are–One.

It's during her journey that she realizes that as much as people tell her how similar she is to her mother, they are not quite right. Mother speaks fondly of things completely unfamiliar, and it feels like the strength of the river when you try to swim against the current. At least, that's what Sansa gets from the pieces of advice her mother has for her.

"You won't want to be on your own with a man, Sansa. Always have a friend nearby to vouch for your virtue should the need arise." Mother says and Sansa wonders why would she need to prove her virtue here, wherein the North it's not even required. A woman proves her worth with her wits and ability to prepare for winter, and though Sansa feels above such notions, she knows women also prove their worth by being good lovers. The North her mother knows and the North her siblings (and Theon) have shared with her are very different, indeed.

"Don't forget your silken handkerchief. It might come in hand to wipe away tears or wine." Mother tells her and Sansa doesn't understand why her mother thinks she will cry in the middle of a wedding feast. And she doesn't drink wine, not after the failed visit of the King and Queen to the North, two years ago.

She still remembers the sour smell of the otherwise beautiful Queen as she spoke, well into her cups, of how pleasing a man is not about the chirpiness of her voice but about the right movements of her hips as he used her. Sansa has never felt more disgusted at anything or anyone as she feels in that moment. She was happy when the King took his wife, his children and half the court back to the capital, with no northern Hand of the King and no 'Stark–Baratheon betrothal to fulfil Lyanna's wish'.

Sansa blushes in shame when she remembers how her father informed her she would not be betrothed to the Prince. The moment the words are out of his lips she throws a poetry book at his head (he thankfully dodges it) and he, for the first time in her life, punishes her rather harshly. Septa Mordane pays for her lack of manners and Sansa must say farewell to the woman who has raised her for half her life.

But with Septa Mordane's departure, she finds herself watching the world around her more. She follows Robb and Theon to their lessons with the Maester and starts learning how to heal wounds with the man. She discovers Jon and Arya practising swords in the godswood and keeps the secret because her sister looks happy and Jon doesn't have a solemn, sad look upon him. She follows Bran through the crypts of Winterfell and becomes acquainted with the stories of Serena, Sansa, Sarra, Alys, Raya and Mariah Stark. She helps her mother take care of Rickon while she goes through half a pregnancy before a miscarriage that would have been another brother for Sansa.

She grows up in two years, and she barely recognises the girl she was before. She is pleased with herself, and she hopes that every lord that gets to know her will be pleased with her too.

* * *

It takes them a good part of two moons to reach Riverrun. It's the middle of the winter and Sansa feels the need to take off her furs as soon as they step into the Riverlands. The wind comes from the North and it picks up the scent of algae from the cold currents of the many rivers, but it's nothing compared to the cool breeze of a northern summer and Sansa leaves only a woollen dress and a travelling cloak.

They enter Riverrun at the same time as Lady Lysa Arryn, Mother's sister and Sansa's Aunt. The woman is completely opposite from Catelyn, with two chins and a round, puffy body that speaks of neglect. Mother still embraces her tightly and though Sansa notices reluctance from Aunt Lysa, it's gone in an instant and she hugs Mother too. Sansa wonders if she will ever get along with Arya, for even if the two are not at each other's throats anymore they barely have anything in common.

The welcoming feast that night is grand. Sansa enjoys dishes she has never tasted before. Back in Winterfell, a feast means herb–roasted venison, wild mushrooms sauteed with garlic, and onion soup. Here, she tries whitefish and winkles, salmon lobster and goose–in–berries. There are tiny, savoury fish rolled in salt and cooked crisp that Sansa loves. There are buttered carrots, ripe blue cheese and creamy chestnut soup.

For a moment, Sansa feels guilty. There are places in the North where the food is scarce even in summer and here she is feasting on many a thing in the middle of winter. But then the desserts come and she loses herself in the lemon cakes, apple cakes and strawberry pies. Dozens of cherries come adorning the apricot tarts and Sansa tries a little bit of everything. She doesn't get near the wine and instead asks for iced water with mint and blueberries.

Afterwards, when the quartet starts playing their instruments and everyone is contented, the dance begins. Sansa is asked immediately by her cousin Robert, who is prompted by Aunt Lysa. The boy is Bran's age and yet he looks smaller than Rickon, sickly and pale. And he tries to grope Sansa's breasts once or twice and to her dismay he doesn't know what he is doing is wrong.

"Don't do that, Robert," she calls him out and steps back, bumping into someone who falls over.

"Haha!" Robert laughs and points, and Sansa is mortified when the surrounding people turn around to look at the commotion. "You threw down the Imp!"

Sansa throws Robert an exasperated look that he ignores as something else catches his attention. For that, Sansa is grateful and she kneels at the side of the fallen Lord of Casterly Rock.

"Are you alright, my Lord?" she asks gently, observing the strange and grotesque face of the man. He is handsome in a strange, wild way, Sansa thinks, noticing his eyes are different colours, one startling green like an emerald, and the other a dark brown that is almost black.

"A pretty lady bumped her arse into my face, how could I not be alright?" he says playfully, and though Sansa knows it's completely inappropriate, she giggles and covers her mouth. She stands and offers him her hand.

She is truly surprised when he takes it and pulls himself up with more grace that she thought he could have. He dusts himself and only then does he put his hands on his back and bows to Sansa.

"My lady," he says. "My name is Tyrion Lannister, though you might have guessed given my unusual and very particular appearance. You are Lady Sansa of House Stark, am I correct?"

Sansa frowns. Perhaps this man, while rich and powerful, is the same as Theon when he's drunk and thinks himself worthless. She will not have it, because people who pity themselves are not what she has been taught to expect.

"Yes," she answers with a polite nod and a smile. "Yes, you are quite unique. I do not know of many people with eyes of such different colours."

He is visibly startled by her observance, but his face also shows how pleased he is that Sansa decides not to mention he is half her height. His eyes light up in amusement and he offers his arm to her.

She takes it and he starts guiding her to a less concurred place beside a window. A couple of ladies point their way and Sansa smiles pleasantly at them.

Let them mock us, she thinks perhaps a bit unkindly. They are beneath either of us and have nothing else to do.

"You will excuse if I don't invite you to dance, my Lady, but I can not follow the hasty rhythms of the Riverlands."

Sansa laughs softly. "Then, my Lord, you would have a hell of a trip to the North. The current song is nothing but our slowest tune and though we have our share of solemn, sad songs, in feasts we dance until our legs hurt."

She surprises herself at all that. Both Mother and Septa Mordane have taught her to let a man speak, as they are inclined to do so. (Arya tells her to let them speak so she can use what they say against them).

Surprising her even further, Tyrion Lannister laughs too.

"Yes, with that description, I can imagine how difficult it would be to follow the steps. Thankfully, no one would ask me to dance and I would not subject myself to a lady as pretty as you are."

Her blush is more because of her fleeting anger at hearing him speak badly of himself and less to do with him having called her pretty.

"Any lady would be happy to dance with a man as respectable as you, Lord Tyrion. Even in the North, we have heard of how you run Casterly Rock now that your father has passed. Many good things are said, and the trade agreements with our western bannermen have done wonders for them."

Tyrion looks impressed again. She waits for him to speak but Tyrion calls for one of the serving boys to bring two cups of wine. He wordlessly offers one to Sansa, who takes it but doesn't drink it.

"I didn't know the North taught her daughters about politics and economy," he says and lets his words prompt her to speak as he gulps down his cup.

"The North is very different from the south, Lord Tyrion," Sansa shares and decides that a sip of the sweet orange–scented wine can't hurt. "Besides, any daughter born to a noble house should know if her people are doing things right or wrong. There is a saying in the North, that for every Lord in charge there is a Lady fixing mistakes."

He laughs earnestly then and even lets out a little snort that has Sansa giggling and soon she's laughing too. The current conversation is leaps better than her cousin trying and failing to grope her.

"I must say we do not get northerners with humour often enough," Lord Tyrion shares, motioning for another serving boy. This time, the wine smells of cinnamon. She sips from the orange–scented wine again.

"Oh, but we are. It's just our jokes breach into the barbaric, savage territory. You understand it's not appropriate to speak of that in the middle of a feast."

"I'm capable of keeping secrets, my lady. Any joke you tell will remain forever in my memory but will never pass through my lips."

Sansa giggles. She looks around playfully and sits on a nearby bench so they can be at the same level. Even then, she is taller than he is.

"This is a joke my brother told me. My mother would kill me if she knew!"

"I swear on my life I won't tell," says Lord Tyrion with a hand over his heart and a playful smirk.

"A Lord had to go to war, but before he sent for the Castellan to leave him a task," Sansa begins. "Ser Castellan, I ride to war, but should I die, I would like my wife to be freed from her chastity girdle. There is no one I trust more but you, and thus I leave you the key."

Here, Sansa pauses for dramatic effect and she sips from her wine again. Tyrion Lannister is attentive.

"Next morning the Lord and his men rode away from the Castle, but they had barely advanced three leagues before the sound of galloping hooves caused the Lord to turn in his side. There, breathless atop his sweating charger, the Castellan rode. Gasping for air, he extended his hand toward the Lord and he said: it's the wrong key!"

Sansa has never told the joke before, always thinking it too rowdy for a lady's lips, but the sound of Tyrion Lannister's honest, amused laughter makes her want to know more and tell them all to the Lord of the Rock so she can keep on hearing him laugh.

It sounds like he doesn't have much to laugh on a day–to–day basis and Sansa feels bad for him. She has been the girl who rejects people, good people often, based on their looks. It weighs on her now to know Lord Tyrion is unmarried because it means that even if she lets go of her shallowness there will always be women (and men) who will not have the chance to hear him happy because they don't want to be near him.

Sansa surprises herself thinking she wants to be near him for a while longer.

When he finally stops laughing he has thrown half of the cinnamon–scented wine on the windowsill and Sansa motions for a serving girl with a rag. As the girl cleans dutifully, Sansa notices Tyrion watching her.

"What is it, my Lord?"

He hesitates, but the infamous Imp is known for speaking his mind and after a few seconds he does.

"I find myself liking you, Lady Sansa, in a way that I perceive would be either dismissed or mocked. I do not want to subject myself to shame or heartbreak, yet I feel as if I should tell you."

Sansa smiles. "There is no shame on being honest, Lord Tyrion."

"I agree, and it is heartbreak that worries me the most."

"Your heart is safe, my Lord. I'm inclined to share my own truth with you if you won't mind."

He grins playfully and gives a little jump to seat himself at her side. For an instant, they are quiet and only observe the couples dancing in the middle of the room. Sansa catches her mother's eye and gives her a smile. Her mother gives her a worried look but Sansa ignores it. She has never been a rebel, but there is a time for everything.

"After the joke, I don't think there is much shame on your part, Lady Sansa," Tyrion says and Sansa giggles again. She clears her throat softly and speaks.

"Lord Tyrion. Once, my father was offered a queen's crown to put on my head and he refused, citing he would find me a husband who was gentle and kind; a man I deserved. That was two years ago and since I've received three offers of undying love from people who seemed honest with me but not with themselves."

He nods and her heart beats strongly. Perhaps drinking the wine hasn't been a good idea. She continued nonetheless.

"I can't offer you undying love, but I can say I am willing to get to know you. This way, if either of us thinks bawdy jokes are not enough to sustain a relationship, we can split up in good terms."

"Pardon my bluntness, Lady Sansa. Are you saying you want me to court you?"

Sansa blushes because it's exactly what she wants and she doesn't know why she chose this particular man to do so when there are other, more handsome people around. Perhaps is the kindness in his words or the intelligence in his eyes, or how he doesn't look at her like she is a piece to decorate his household.

Or perhaps it's the wine.

Tyrion laughs and nods. "Yes, perhaps it's the wine, my Lady."

He jumps down the bench and bows at her. "Tomorrow, when you are not influenced by any liquids, I will find you. If you still wish the same, I will honour it."

He drinks the rest of the cinammon–scented wine and bows once more.

Sansa enjoys the rest of the night and ignores her Mother's questioning looks. She keeps thinking about him and more than once they meet eyes from opposite sides of the hall. Every time, Sansa blushes and smiles, and she's made up her mind before the feast is over.

The next day, when he approaches her, she kneels in front of him and grins. He grins at her and she is amazed at how easily they understand the other.

Perhaps Mother is right after all, and all she needs is to come south to find love.


End file.
